


A Little Less Sixteen Candles

by iridescentglow



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-20
Updated: 2005-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentglow/pseuds/iridescentglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think," Logan said at last. "The hero is about to get it on."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Less Sixteen Candles

"You're thinking about him," Logan said after a long silence.

_What?_ Veronica's brain supplied reflexively as she was wrenched out of her headspace. She didn't give him the satisfaction of speaking aloud such a moronic response; she simply stared back at him, unblinkingly, across the dirty table.

"Duncan," Logan prompted, redundantly.

There were a lot of things that Veronica Mars didn't do, and one of them was blush over boys. She continued staring as Logan smirked, his lips still formed around Duncan's name. She looked away, suddenly, feeling the colour creep into her cheeks. Because Logan was right, of course; she had been thinking about Duncan—the same endless loop of questions, rages, desires that had been spinning her head since he had told her he still loved her, beaten down and broken open with the words.

A waitress shuffled over to their table and slammed two bowls of ice-cream down. Blythe ("here to help!" or so her nametag optimistically claimed) gave them a bug-eyed look and slid the check across the table. She hesitated, allowing her lip to curl slightly, and then lurched away. Logan had chosen vanilla ice-cream, and he began to attack it with the gleefulness of a small child. Veronica pushed her own ice-cream aside and instead reached for the check. _God, is there any place in Neptune that doesn't pride itself on being overpriced?_

Apparently her disgust showed on her face, because Logan paused to reassure her condescendingly, "Don't worry, I'll pay. This is a _date_ , after all." There was a smear of ice-cream across his bottom lip.

Unconsciously, Veronica licked her own lips. "You're such a gentleman," she said dryly.

Slowly, he reached up and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. Veronica looked away, again. The ice-cream parlour was, except for the two of them and the glowering waitress, completely empty. _Nothing like rumors of rat infestation to chase away the customers._

After a long, dry period of no contact, Logan had phoned her up out of the blue. As if nothing had happened. Except there was a new, hollow ring to his voice, and Veronica heard car headlights smashing as he talked. The routine was quickly established: he would call her up and ask her out on a date—always that word, _date_ ; always accompanied by the same sneer. Sometimes she'd say no, just to see if he'd stop calling. He never did.

This time they'd arranged their date in the 'bad part' of town (Logan's words), where no one would recognize them. Except— this was Neptune and there was no bad part of town.

Veronica didn't know why she and Logan bothered with the charade of secrecy. Everyone knew that they were an 'item', in whatever poorly defined sense that didn't exclude her presenting him as a murder suspect. More importantly, nobody cared. On the scale of shocking secrets, it rated pretty low after murderous movie stars and pseudo-incestuous relationships.

More to the point, Logan's place on the Neptune High food chain had plummeted. It wasn't that the 09'ers couldn't have incorporated a killer's son into their ethos; Veronica was sure he could have worked his newfound infamy to his advantage, had he cared enough to do so. Instead, he offered bloodshot eyes; a dog-like snarl that would appear when anybody approached him. (There were rumors that he'd actually bitten someone; a freshman boy showed off teeth marks on his hand for a week. But then, Veronica didn't give much credence to rumors.) Logan had stopped talking to almost everyone—except for Duncan, who suddenly, inexplicably, became his Best Friend once more. Not that there was much of the old camaraderie to be found between them; the way they would sit at the central table during lunch hour, just the two of them, silently ignoring the rest of the world.

Dick Casablancas had assumed Logan's role of party star; he had shouted the loudest, made the crudest jokes—and the rest of the 09'ers had fallen into line behind him. Dick wouldn't last long, Veronica knew. (Wallace had already exhausted all possible 'dickhead' jokes about his reign over Neptune High.) Maybe Logan would reclaim his rightful place, with Duncan by his side. Maybe everything would go back to the way it was.

Veronica wondered if she and Logan needed their pretend secrecy, because it was too hard to redefine their relationship outside of the secrets and lies. _What is normal?_ she thought sardonically. 

Veronica pushed away her untouched sundae. She shifted in her seat. "Well, this has been fun"—she smiled crookedly—"but I have to get going. My dad's been crazy-regimented about my curfew ever since some nutjob shut me in a freezer and tried to light me on fire."

"I'll drive you home," Logan said, expressionlessly.

She shook her head. "No."

Logan slumped back into his seat, lifting his shoulders into a sort of shrug.

"We should do this again sometime," he said, his sarcasm undercut by the sad expression in his eyes. Because it was the truth, of course. They both knew it: he would call again . . . sooner or later. Next time they might have to drive all the way out of Neptune to find someplace where no one knew them.

Veronica hesitated. She thought about kissing him goodbye, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do so. It seemed like Logan couldn't bear touching her any more; she sensed the ghost of a flinch as he held open doors for her and she slipped past him, her body brushing his. When he looked at her, she saw the flash of a snarl, tempered by a shadow of fear—fear of what might happen; how it might make him feel.

"Goodnight," he said hollowly.

She nodded and slid out of the booth. On her way out, she placed the check and a twenty dollar bill on the counter next to the cash register.

*

Veronica had taken to dropping by the Kane residence unannounced. Maybe it was a test—a surprise ambush on them all; Duncan in particular. Learn something new. Crack the case. Except, she wasn't even sure what she was investigating anymore. Mostly, she realized, it was cowardice. The whole process of calling, talking on the phone, arranging a time to come over (god—a _date_ ); it gave her too much time to think.

"Hi," she said. This was the third—maybe fourth time she'd simply shown up. She leaned against the doorframe, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Hi," Duncan echoed blankly. He was dressed in boxer shorts and a crumpled white t-shirt. She realized suddenly that she had no idea of the time. She'd watched as night had melted into day, and she hadn't checked the clock. It must be early—too early for surprise visits. She was sleeping fitfully these days, with long bouts of insomnia. ( _These days_. She checked herself sardonically. As if she'd had a good night's sleep since the day of the car wash—Lilly's secret—the sirens and then the silence.)

"Do you want to come in?" Duncan said after a moment. He ran a hand through his rumpled hair a little self-consciously. Veronica smiled without meaning to, and then nodded, _yes_.

They walked through to the kitchen. "Do you, um, want some breakfast?" he continued.

"Sure," she said, looking around her. She felt an odd rush of familiarity for the house, as if—for a moment—things had been reset and it was normal for her to be in the Kane family kitchen on a summer morning.

He set about making her eggs. He was a lousy cook, frowning in apparent consternation over the simplest things. It was fun to watch. She hauled herself up onto the counter, sitting on her hands and clicking her heels against the cupboard below. They talked, scarcely bigger than small talk; silly, insignificant patter that stretched into silence until Veronica asked about Star Wars or Mr Stein at school or the neighbour's killer pooch, Diego—and they were off again, talking and laughing and being VeronicaAndDuncan.

As Veronica was nibbling at her rubbery eggs, Jake Kane wandered into the kitchen, newspaper tucked under his arm. He did what was almost a comic double-take.

"Veronica! What a . . . pleasant surprise," he said faintly.

Veronica stretched her lips into a fake smile, revelling in its insincerity. "Hello, Mr Kane."

"Jake, call me Jake," he insisted jovially, unable to hide his Duncan-like frown.

Veronica squared her shoulders, swinging her legs harder against the oak cabinet. Part of her wanted to slink away in shame, but a larger, more vindictive part was enjoying staring Jake Kane down. She may have signed away her nonexistent claim on the Kane fortune, but she wouldn't give up her claim on Duncan. She could still sit at his right hand, be his Queen.

A muscle in Jake's jaw jumped, and he looked away. He muttered something incoherent and left the kitchen.

Celeste Kane arrived predictably a few minutes later, as Duncan was stacking their plates in the sink. Duncan turned the tap, and Celeste's greeting was drowned by a rush of water.

". . . really a lot going on today. Shouldn't you be leaving, Veronica?" Celeste spared her an icy smile that seemed to say, _no hard feelings, but I want you out of my house this instant_.

"No, mom," Duncan said quietly. "Veronica's staying."

He reached for Veronica's hand, helping her down from the counter. Still holding hands, they walked out of the kitchen. Veronica felt the cold breath of Celeste's perfume as she brushed past her.

They walked along the white, minimalist hallway that had always reminded Veronica of a hospital corridor. Her grip on Duncan's hand tightened. Drifting past his bedroom's open doorway, she led him instead into Lilly's room. It wasn't the perfect shrine to her memory that it had once been—static and untouched; waiting for its princess to return. Boxes were stacked against the wall; an open one revealed ornaments swathed in bubble wrap, fighting for space with a few jaded teddy bears.

Duncan seemed to notice the change in her expression. He explained, "I guess my mom decided it's time to let go . . . move on. She's been seeing this new shrink. I think he does feng shui on the side. She's turning this room into a gift-wrapping room. Much more Zen."

Veronica couldn't tell if he was joking or not. She laughed anyway; a gasp of a laugh as she released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. A slight smile cracked across Duncan's face.

They sat down on Lilly's bed, which had been stripped down to its mattress. Veronica pulled his hand into her lap, threading her fingers through his.

"I missed you," he said in a low voice.

He kissed her gently. She'd been expecting this kiss from the moment he opened the door, and yet it still took her by surprise. She'd expected more, somehow—bells ringing, the earth to move; maybe some sort of sign of the apocalypse. What was unnerving was how _right_ it felt; how unremarkable. Because his kisses felt the same as always, and as she blinked away the sad, empty room, it was almost possible to pretend that the past two years had never happened.

She heard the insistent whine of a grass strimmer somewhere outside. She opened her eyes briefly and noticed that he had closed the door behind them. They wriggled closer together, rediscovering half-forgotten positions. He was kissing her with more urgency now, and she felt breathless, control slipping from her grasp. His hands were fumbling beneath her shirt, the blunt touch of his fingers skimming higher until they met the wall of her bra.

_He wants to have sex_ , she realized dimly, as his hands finally succeeded in unhooking her bra. It was only natural that he'd want to. She tried to tell herself all the things she was sure he was telling himself— _it will be better this time; it will be the tender, perfect first time we never really had . . ._

She wasn't sure she could scrub the word **rape** from her memory so easily.

She fell away from him, her body suddenly tensed. His thumbs were still resting beneath the curve of her breasts.

Gently, she reached up and refastened her bra.

" _Shit_. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" Duncan pulled his hands away as if he'd been scalded. He was looking down, avoiding her eyes, still apologizing mechanically over and over.

Suddenly she felt like crying; hurling herself into his arms and sobbing. Because even though it hadn't been rape, something had been stolen from them—both of them—that night. The pieces they were left with didn't fit together the same way they had once done; they weren't the VeronicaAndDuncan who had held hands over the lunch table and smiled in yearbook pictures.

*

When Veronica arrived home, she found that she had received a text message from Logan—

_Movie night! My place. 8pm._

She stared at the message, and then began scrolling through her phone book. Her call clicked straight through to his voice mail: _You've reached Logan. Today's inspirational message is, friendship is the gold card with both benefits and a low interest rate!_ Veronica sighed and flipped her phone closed.

She thought about not going; pretended to consider it for an hour while she showered and blow-dried her hair into a sleek bob. She rifled indecisively through her wardrobe, recognizing classic pre-date jitters. (Except, she pretty sure that whatever Logan had planned would not be a classic date.) Duncan had always liked her in the blue-and-white sundress. The straps always fell down, and he would smile and push them back onto her shoulders. But she knew Logan would enjoy the leather pants; he would relish peeling them away from her thighs. She tried on both outfits; she tried to will herself into being one of those girls. Finally she turned away from the mirror and pulled on a pair of beat-up jeans. She teamed them with an old shirt of her mom's; simply cut linen dyed a deep, almost fuchsia pink. It didn't quite fit Veronica, and when she leaned forward, the black edge of her bra peeked out from the neckline.

She drove to Logan's house. As she turned into the sweeping driveway, a security guard gave her a distrustful look, but she apparently did not give the impression of being paparazzi or police, and he did not stop her. She fought the urge to find a different way in, and instead rang the doorbell. She realized, as the front door swung open, that she had expected the smarmy/genial appearance of Aaron Echolls; a gravely-voiced invitation to come in, and the shadowy flutter of Lynn in the background. It took Veronica a moment to reassess, moulding Aaron's features into the youthful smirk of Logan. But by this time, he was already kissing her.

Full on _From Here To Eternity_ kissing, with a side of James Bond. Grasping her lightly around the waist, he twirled and finally dipped her. His lips opened against hers, his tongue doing a quick but thorough sweep of her mouth. He finished with a distinct smacking sound, and righted her on the other side of the threshold.

Logan grinned. "Welcome, welcome," he said with mock-geniality. He took her hand and began leading her through the house.

"You greet all your guests like that?" Veronica said archly, nonetheless feeling annoyingly giddy. "Must give the mailman a bit of a shock."

They arrived at the screening room, complete with oversized television set and speakers embedded into practically every surface. (No understated movie nights for the Echolls.) Veronica stopped at the doorway. Someone was already seated on the couch, his face angled toward them.

Duncan.

_Of course_. She shouldn't have been surprised to see him there. She felt a sharp stab of disappointment. The surprise didn't lie in Logan inviting him (Logan loved a good head fuck); it lay in Duncan saying yes. Duncan wasn't _hers_ ; he would never belong to her alone, and she was increasingly unsure as to whether he had ever really been hers at all.

"There's an Aaron Echolls marathon on cable," Logan announced, dropping Veronica's hand and marching across the room. "I guess it's some weird nod to the murder groupies." Logan reached up and stroked the TV screen. "He's so _dreamy_ "—Logan adopted a girlish flutter—"and would probably slit my throat while I'm sleeping. What. A. Guy."

Hair Trigger was indeed just starting. A celluloid Aaron Echolls strode larger-than-life across the screen. He paused to flick his impressive mane of chestnut hair out of his eyes. Veronica had to hand it to him; that hair deserved an Oscar nod all of its own.

The three of them ended up seated on the couch, of course; Veronica sandwiched between her two not-so-ex-boyfriends. Absurdly, it appeared that they were actually going to watch the movie. Thirty minutes passed, and Hair Trigger was approaching its first big action sequence. The sassy blonde district attorney had insisted on accompanying Aaron's hero cop on a random and unaccountably dangerous sting operation.

_"Stay in the car! I don't want you to get hurt!"_

_"What about you? I don't think I could live with myself if anything happened to you, Blaine!"_

_"Dammit, Kayla! It's my job!"_

"Don't listen to him, you fool," Logan muttered mockingly in Veronica's ear. His hand, which had begun by resting innocuously on her knee, was now travelling up her thigh. His thumb moved lightly in slow circles, smoothing at the creases in her jeans. He really was very good at that—Lilly had trained him well.

Veronica exhaled loudly, shifting slightly in her seat. Logan responded by pressing his thigh more firmly against hers. His hand came to rest a few inches shy of the growing heat between her legs. She felt the muscles in her stomach tense as Logan's other hand reached over and unfastened the first button of her jeans. Slowly she exhaled again, relaxing into his moving fingers. Second button—third button—

"So are you guys just going to have sex right here in front of me?" Duncan said in a low, almost droll voice.

Logan's hands stopped working on Veronica's jeans. He reached out, leaning across Veronica, the fingers of his left hand brushing Duncan's face in the darkness.

"Aw, _jealous_ ," Logan said teasingly. His fingers caught briefly at Duncan's mouth, before he pulled away again.

Veronica turned her face toward Duncan. "Kiss me," she told him firmly. She didn't bother waiting; her lips covered his before he could respond. It was a forceful kiss, fevered and abrupt, with the promise of _more_. Not like all those kisses before, where he'd almost seemed afraid of holding her, afraid that she might break in his arms.

" _Are you guys just gonna have sex right here in front of me?_ " Logan whined in her ear, imitating Duncan. His voice dropped: "It's not like I mind if you do." His fingers resumed unbuttoning her pants.

Veronica broke away from Duncan's kiss. She felt her throat filling up with a woozy sensation akin to claustrophobia; darkness and warmth wrapped around her, and the movie continued to blare from every crevice of the room.

"My turn!" Logan announced gleefully.

Veronica half-turned toward him, but he had already leaned past her. Tentatively, Duncan reached out to touch him. There was an awkward pause as their bodies realigned, moulding themselves around Veronica and finally sinking into a kiss. _Their first?_ Veronica wondered vaguely, realizing how little she really knew of their shared history. For the first few moments, she watched them with a strange sense of detachment. The softening of Duncan's expression; the way Logan's mouth twisted around his lips—these things she'd thought reserved for her alone. _You and Lilly_ , a cruel voice at the back of her head reminded her.

Logan's tongue did a final sweep of Duncan's mouth, and then he pulled away. He was amused to see that the other boy looked slightly stunned. They both settled back onto the couch, Veronica between them. Logan refocused his attention briefly on the TV screen. The sting operation had been a partial success, although—predictably—the bad guy had managed to escape at the last minute. Logan thought blankly of how many times he'd been made to sit through his damn movie, as his dad pretended that he really was the Big Hero that his action star good looks purported. He watched with lurid fascination as Aaron Echolls' on-screen alter-ego leaned in to kiss the sassy blonde.

Logan stood up. "Well," he said. "I think we all know what happens next."

Duncan gave him an uncertain look. "What?"

Logan flicked off the television set abruptly. The sudden ensuing silence was almost overwhelming. Logan waited; he watched lazily as Veronica began to roll her jeans down over her hips.

"I think," Logan said at last. "The hero is about to get it on."

*

Later that night, Veronica stumbled downstairs. She knew she must look the picture of cliché teenage depravity: shirt buttons done up hastily (and probably wrongly); smudged mascara—and she was willing to bet that two pairs of male hands had made an even bigger mess of her hair than the usual single pair.

"Fuck," she muttered, tugging at her shirt. "What must I look like?"

"You look beautiful," a voice said.

Veronica looked up. She smiled reluctantly. "You're a horrible liar, Duncan Kane," she said, speaking quietly so as not to disturb the stillness of the house.

Duncan was sitting at the kitchen counter, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. Veronica wondered where the hell he had produced a clean cup from. Then she saw the pile of clean crockery stacked beside the sink.

"You did the washing up? God, you're such a freak," she said fondly. They smiled at each other.

"Want some coffee?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Drive me home?" she said, a little plaintively. (She'd collect her own car another time; better yet, send Wallace to retrieve it.)

Duncan stood up, and suddenly she realized he'd been waiting for her for precisely that reason. She caught him around the waist, nestling briefly into his chest. She placed a kiss on the curve of his jaw, and then pulled away.

"Is Logan still asleep?" Duncan asked after a pause. (Veronica wondered if he could still feel Logan all over him, the same way she could.)

"Sound asleep," she said. "I didn't want to wake him. I don't think he's slept properly in a month."

"Two months."

Veronica did the math, and nodded. "Yeah."

*

Duncan drove Veronica home to her apartment complex. They kissed, a little awkwardly, at her door and then he left. Veronica felt slightly dizzy at the normality of it all. She looked down at her watch and registered the time as past 1am. _Shit_.

She pushed open the door, carefully and quietly. She screwed her eyes shut— _Maybe he hasn't noticed the time— Maybe he's at Wallace's mom's place— Maybe he's decided it's time I can have all the privacy and freedom that I should desire . . ._

She opened her eyes. From the couch Keith Mars stared back at her. He was wearing a quietly disapproving smile that might collapse into a frown at any moment.

"Duncan drop you off?" he asked.

"Uh huh," she said, wiping discreetly at her ruined eye make-up.

"You two go on a date?"

"Uh huh. Sort of," she answered truthfully.

"What did you do?"

"Oh, the usual." _We went to his best friend's house and he fucked me while Logan watched and then Logan fucked Duncan and then Logan went down on me, although honestly there was so much tongue that it might have been Duncan too. I came three times._ "How was your night?"

"Alicia and I had some dinner and watched TV. You know there was an Aaron Echolls marathon on cable?"

"Hair Trigger is an underrated classic of our time," Veronica quipped. She began sloping off toward her room. "Really tired," she said innocently. "See you in the morning."

"Night, sweetie," her father called after her. "Extra chores for a week. And next time, tell your boyfriend to get you home at a reasonable hour."

Veronica closed her bedroom door. She looked at herself in the mirror—saw the ghost of Logan's hands and Duncan's mouth. "He's . . . not my boyfriend," she said softly.

*

Sex wasn't exactly what Duncan had been expecting. Screwing your "sister" in a drugged haze wasn't mentioned in any of the Sex Ed pamphlets as a likely first time scenario.

For years he had romanticized the whole virginity thing. In truth, it was just easier: to wait for the Right Time, Right Place . . . right everything. Sacrifice himself to beautifulsweet _perfect_ Veronica's chastity. He'd had vague ideas about waiting until marriage. His dad had given him the Talk, and Duncan had bought all his bullshit about the meaninglessness of pre-marital sex. (Later he'd filled in the blanks: re-read Jake Kane's fidgeting and inability to meet his eyes. Because, of course, Jake had spent his teenage years fucking Lianne Reynolds and hadn't seen the point in stopping even after he married Celeste. _But thanks for the advice, Dad . . ._ )

Duncan's memories of Lilly are, for the most part, devastating snapshots. He doesn't remember anything about her that feels remotely "important": it's all the mundane, unremarkable stuff. He remembers watching a bad teen movie on TV with her years ago: it was the inevitable de-virginizing scene and as they watched, Lilly began to roll her eyes. "First time always sucks," she said scornfully, lecturing the on-screen hero: "Second time will be better."

Duncan doubted even Lilly could have predicted how much better his own second time would be.

 

Duncan drifted into the Kane family kitchen on the proverbial morning after, wondering whether his general feeling of giddy unease could be characterized as "afterglow". His mother was sitting at the table, drinking battery-acid-strength coffee and looking even more displeased than usual.

"That boy is here," she told him tersely.

Duncan didn't bother to ask who she meant. The day of Aaron Echolls' arrest, Logan had been irrevocably downgraded in status. There was no grey area in Celeste Kane's worldview, and as far as she was concerned, the son of Lilly's killer no longer deserved a name.

"Where is he?" Duncan asked.

"The driveway," Celeste said disdainfully, as though Logan's mere presence was contaminating the asphalt outside. "If he's not gone in ten minutes, I'll have him removed from the premises."

Duncan walked slowly through the house. After the carefully controlled cool of the air-conditioned rooms, the heat of the day was thick and overwhelming as he opened the front door. Logan was propped up against the wall a few feet away.

"Hey," Duncan said, and Logan squinted at him, producing the barest of smiles. "You can come in," he continued, trying to sound assertive.

"Your mom gonna give me milk and cookies?" Logan asked disparagingly. He smiled more widely, with an unpleasant curl to his lip. "Nah, she'll call the police. Because who knows what I might do to corrupt her perfect son."

There was a moment of taut silence, and then Logan's expression softened. He reached out a hand, cupping Duncan's face for a moment. He dragged his thumb across Duncan's cheek, tilting his head to look appraisingly at him. "Last night was fun," he said in a low voice. He dropped his hand abruptly, rearranging himself casually against the wall.

"Yeah. It was—" Duncan doubted there was a word in the English language to accurately describe exactly _what_ last night was. He remembered Lilly's stark declaration: " _Better_."

Duncan leaned closer to Logan. The rough wall scraped against the palm of his right hand as he steadied himself. He closed the distance between them, his left hand pressing against Logan's shoulder. When they kissed, it was with a strange heaviness; Logan languorous and composed as Duncan urged himself closer, for more contact, more warmth, more more _more_. Duncan was reminded of his awkward goodnight kiss with Veronica the night before. Something fundamental had changed between them, and the new sensations had yet to settle into something that could be easily understood.

Logan finally pushed him away, biting at his lip and realigning his gaze over Duncan's shoulder. His expression hardened once more.

"Last night was about _sex_ ," he amended roughly. "It was _nothing_." He swallowed, and then met Duncan's eyes reluctantly. "Don't tell me you love me, Duncan. Don't do that to me . . ." Logan's words dried up.

At that moment the front door opened and Celeste strode out onto the asphalt. She cast a sideways glance in their direction. Duncan became aware of his hand covering Logan's bicep; their closeness, the angle of their bodies.

"Be home for dinner at eight, Duncan," Celeste said glassily. She walked to her car and got in.

Logan resumed kissing Duncan suddenly, pulling the other boy toward him, so that their bodies flattened languidly against the wall. Duncan imagined himself removed from the embrace; in his mind's eye he saw them from a distance, reduced to a smudge in a car's rear-view mirror.

Duncan heard the sound of the engine as his mother drove away, and he fell away from Logan.

"Well." Logan smirked. "Sounds like you have exciting plans for tonight." He slid out of Duncan's grasp, and began to walk back down the drive.

Logan spun ostentatiously in a circle, spreading his arms wide. "Maybe I'll see what 'Roni's up to. Just between you and me, I think the girl knows how to party." He gestured at Duncan. "You have fun, though . . . I'll be thinking of you." He winked.

Duncan tried not to rise to the bait. But Logan had had ten long years of friendship to learn exactly how to press his buttons. He couldn't not ask: "You're in love with her, aren't you? You're in love with Veronica."

"Aren't we all? Isn't that the whole fucking problem." Logan's back was turned now. He was thirty feet away, but Duncan could feel the bite of Logan's words against his tongue.

Logan turned to face Duncan one last time before he turned onto the street. "Let me ask you something. Are there any great romances about three people? Is it _When Harry Met Sally And His Best Buddy_?—"

*

_No. There was Harry and Sally and no one else. No third wheel. No third mouth/cock/cunt. Ménage à trois is a fucking myth. Because there's too much jealousy, too much uncertainty, too much complication._

Logan's wish for less people has come true—whether he wants it anymore or not. There are just the three of them now. Everyone else has faded away. It's just Veronica and Duncan, life-size and in glorious-fucking-technicolor—in his mind, all the time.

 

He didn't call Veronica. Of course he didn't. _Heartless bitch heartless bitch heartless bitch_ —it was his mantra as he paced the empty mansion. He'd stay home tonight; just like all the other nights. One might be the loneliest fucking number, but at least it was better than three.

He flicked on the television. The Aaron Echolls marathon was over. He slumped down onto the coach and stared blankly at the screen. It was one of Alyssa Milano's early movies. The story involved huskies, he dimly recalled. Had her father been eaten by huskies? _Whatever_. Alyssa was stripping off her snow-drenched clothes to warm up in front of the roaring log fire. Logan slid his hand dispiritedly into his pants, trying to work up the desire to jerk off to Alyssa Milano and huskies.

Logan heard the scraping sound of the glass door that led into the kitchen being pushed open— Alyssa was drinking hot chocolate in her white, lacy underwear— Logan looked up— Alyssa had been surprised by a kindly/murderous woodsman—

And Veronica Mars was wearing leather pants.

She stood with her hands on her hips, blocking the TV screen. "What are you doing?" she asked.

". . . Isn't that kind of obvious?"

Veronica twisted around to look at the screen. "It looks like you're getting off to huskies. What kind of a sick fuck are you, Logan Echolls?" She paused, and added conversationally: "God, is that Alyssa Milano? She looks just like Andrew Keegan, doesn't she?"

"She does _not_ look like—" Logan broke off, feeling slightly beleaguered. "Fucking _hell_! are you wearing _leather_?"

Veronica smiled and moved forward. "You." She leaned down, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Are so predictable." She put her face close to his.

He tilted his head slightly, so that his lips were almost touching hers. He realized his right hand was still resting on his cock. He reached out his left hand, tugging open the buttons on her pants.

"And," Veronica murmured, "all things considered, a little too good at that . . ."

Abruptly, Logan pulled Veronica down on top of him. She let out a yelp as they collapsed into a tangle of limbs. "We should really—" Veronica's breath caught; Logan's fingers were inching downward as he peeled open her pants. "We should wait for— it's really not—

" _Fair!_ " Veronica wrenched herself up, rising above Logan.

"I think Duncan will understand the pressing matters that were at hand," a voice said from the doorway. "I mean, huskies. And Alyssa Milano."

Duncan looked relaxed as he walked into the room. Logan stared at him. He couldn't help but smile.

"I told my mom I had plans tonight," Duncan said.

He moved so he was standing behind the couch, behind Logan. He reached out and lifted Veronica up. Her arms curled around his neck as she shifted her weight onto his shoulders. Her face was level with Duncan; her knees were still digging into either side of Logan's hips. Logan pushed slightly against her thighs, the leather sticking to the palms of his hands.

"Hi," she said happily. Duncan formed his lips into an echo of hers as he mouthed, _hi_.

"I missed you," she said with sudden seriousness. Big eyes, her lips relaxed into an uncertain pout; Duncan glimpsed the Veronica of old. He leaned forward and kissed her; slow, perfect, 7-minutes-in-heaven making out. In his arms, Veronica keened closer, her body writhing against Logan. 

"God, you two are nauseating," Logan said sourly. "How did I ever put up with it?" Logan's hands were still moving up and down her legs; his fingers making patterns against the sensitive flesh of her inners thighs, playing against her with thumb-and-forefinger as if he were reciting incy-wincy-spider. 

Veronica and Duncan broke apart, breathlessly.

"You had Lilly," Duncan answered quietly, expressionlessly. He was still looking into Veronica's eyes, but now he was remembering another girl's quirks and mannerisms, her beauty and flaws.

Of course, it was too easy to simply assign the blame to Lilly. For leaving them as an odd number—for _leaving_ them. It imbued their tryst—Veronica smiled at the thought of the word _tryst_ ; Lilly would have appreciated it—with a strange inevitability. And she couldn't quite believe that it had ever been _inevitable_ that she would end up buried in Logan's lap as Duncan stuck his tongue down her throat.

"Yeah, well, if you two could cut out the 6th grade make-out bullshit, I might be able to work up the desire to bother fucking you," Logan said lazily. His thumb reached the first button of Veronica's pants. A glimpse of springy pubic hair was visible beyond.

"Aw, who said romance is dead?" Veronica replied sardonically.

She relaxed into Duncan's body as he resumed kissing her. She felt Logan's fingers digging inside her pants; his thumb brushed her clit and she moaned against Duncan's tongue.

*

Logan is sleeping peacefully for the second night in a row. Veronica runs her fingers lightly over his face; she leans down and places a single kiss at his hairline. She pulls away, and begins to dress. Duncan stands by the window. In the dim light, his eyes gleam with an odd intensity as he watches her slow, clumsy movements.

 _It won't last forever_.

These are her thoughts as Duncan guides her downstairs. His hands fall short of actually touching her, and it's just as well. She feels they are all going through the uncomfortable process of separating: Logan as he sleeps, curling his scarred body around nightmares and darker realities; Duncan as he pretends not to desire his best friend as much as he resents him, the other boy's taste lingering in his mouth. Even she is doing it; busy thinking up the lies and excuses she will tell her father when she arrives home— _late_ , again.

_Duncan will leave eventually_ , she thinks blurrily. He'll grow frustrated with them both, because they'll never be able to love him in the way that he wants. Maybe that's the trouble with all three of them. They're all in love with not-quite-true ideas of each other; they'll cling to something that _almost_ was or _could_ be. Sex is just a way of filling in the blank spaces.

_Sooner or later Duncan will go back to Meg, the pure ideal._ Or maybe she's underestimating him, and he'll stay to the bitter end. She and Logan will destroy each other, she knows this in her heart; he's just as masochistic as she is.

The bomb's timer is ticking closer to 0:00 and it's funny to realize that she once thought their story could be a romantic comedy. They've made it into some other genre entirely.


End file.
